


Three Mils Off From A Happy Ending

by WolfVenom



Series: R6S Drabbles [17]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Ending, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Crying, Dark, Emotional Hurt, Goodbyes, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Military, Shock, Snipers, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: Breathe. Aim. Calculate. Fire. Repeat.





	Three Mils Off From A Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> some discord thoughts written down into comprehensible jibberish for your entertainment. beware the angst.

Glaz’ body is a solid warmth against his side, pressed tightly together under the quickly fading sunlight. As the day fades, the white faces below litter from the abandoned war zone, thinking themselves cloaked under the submerging darkness yet falling right into the thermal scope passing rounds through its kill zone. In two hours, thirty-three bodies fall under the moonlight.

 

Kapkan adjusts his binoculars against the five hundred yard pinpoint, notebook firmly grasped in his hand as he hooks an ankle around Glaz’ in silent warning of another terrorist run. Their zone is thirteen hundred yards, and the peeking coward makes a dodge to the right at a running speed of forty-six kilometres an hour. He whispers as much to Glaz, jots down the charred remains of a tank on his notebook and watches the body snap back and crumple to the dust with one silent shot. 

 

_ Thirty-four. _

 

Intel received counts that as less than a quarter of the tango’s sent to this location, Ash’s voice hushed in their earpieces beneath heavy earmuffs. Glaz’ eye doesn’t leave his scope as he reloads, adjusts his bipod for a downwards angle and Kapkan spots out five more bogeys in the alleyway. He licks his thumb and jerks it to the left in front of Glaz, holding up two fingers and brushing them forward. 

 

His sniper shifts a nod, and shoots three mils to the right of a drifter, catching him right below the jaw in a clean kill. 

 

_ Thirty-five. _

 

There are wild dogs dragging mangled corpses across the dirt, and Kapkan waves their locations so Glaz won’t shoot one by accident. Words are death by this point, the silence of night carrying hushed whispers miles across desert plains, so the Spetsnaz rely on their years of teamwork and training to converse through hand signals. 

 

There’s a swarm of mosquitoes trying to dig away at Glaz’ face, and Kapkan brushes as much as he can off to an immovable stare. The sniper is so focused on his prey he doesn’t even care that the bloodsuckers feat on his eyelids. 

 

A man with a John Wayne sneaks along the alley and Glaz fires again, twice this time, the first shot lost in a strong gust of wind yet made up for in the semi-automatic clip. Kapkan watches out for the windows, thermal vision granting him an advantage over the White Masks as he ensures the safety of their nest. 

 

Tachanka had previously urged the pair to bring a suppressor instead of a flash hider, rationing their stealth over location. Obviously, Glaz was smart enough to knock out a loophole in their nest, reducing flash a smidge, and Kapkan merely chuckled and saddled down for a long few days of bloodshed.

 

Glaz was famous for being an absolute beast when it came to his sniper. He always preferred loud and gruesome, enjoyed leaving a vicious echo and grotesque body behind to instill fear into enemy ranks, something Kapkan usually preferred to steer away from. So what better job than to spot him out. 

 

The main entrances to the building they staked out were mounted heavily with EDD wires and C4, a good warning device should they plan on ambushing the ambushers. Glaz reloaded whilst Kapkan flitted off into a brief daydream, and Kapkan stuffed the empty magazine into his duffel behind them.

 

A rumble began on the horizon, the grind and squeal of CAT tires as a mobile squadron sped into the small town, obviously not friendly and obviously very dangerous. Kapkan pulled down on Glaz’ shoulder and they ducked out of sight while they passed, looking each other in the eye as sweat gathered on their foreheads. A pause, a nod, both crept back into position and Kapkan checked out the newest addition.

 

A simple terrorist caravan, a stolen convoy, nothing too extreme. He focused on the newcomers and absentmindedly scribbled down on his paper, sliding it quietly over to Glaz while he locked eye with a White Mask emerging from the truck. It jarred his spine like a hot flash, panic slightly settling into each notch of his vertebrae thinking,  _ can he see me? No, of course not, what the hell is wrong with you, Maxim.  _

 

But that shock of adrenaline hardly wore off, staring through his binoculars at the terrorist who seemed to stare back just as intently. The figure rolled his shoulders and looked away, returning to interact with his comrades in a lazy chatter inaudible at their distance. Glaz was shifting restlessly, picking off a whole gang of enemies was risky and a good way to bust the whole operation to rubble, and yet his trigger finger still itched. The joints there must’ve ached something terrible, hours and hours of dragging a pump two pounds worth always took its toll eventually, but the man stayed vigilant. 

 

Kapkan held his head low and scooted back slightly to reach their duffel, ignoring the dust shaking from the shabby roof and atop their heads in favour of snatching a steel water bottle and popping the lid as quietly as possible. He took four large gulps before offering the lip to Glaz, allowing him a moment of refreshment, and then dousing both of them with a gratuitous amount of water to cool off, smearing their face paint and soaking their clothes. 

 

Red marks surely were forming across the bridge of his nose and around his eyes like a demented raccoon, as Kapkan returned his binoculars to his face and checked the surrounding zone for any more terrorists before angling back to their target, judging by distance and movement to figure out the best path to take to take them all out efficiently. 

 

He slid closer to Glaz, offering his notebook to convey his calculations. Glaz grumbled to himself and blinked slowly, eyes seemingly beginning to water from the dehydration in the air. 

 

Again, he backed away and took to the sights, watching the CAT rumble off into the distance and the gaggle of newcomers converse with wild hand gestures. One was making erratic pointing movements, prompting hysterics from the others in laughter that traveled far. 

 

So focused was he, trained hardy on the trail of the kill zone, that the gasp to his right cut on deaf ears and suddenly, there was white.

 

Movements blurred together in a flurry of action, binoculars discarded to the side as a shot rang out to their northeast, startling Glaz and forcing Kapkan to duck down and tumble in the opposite direction without a second thought, trusting his teammate to cover the same. He waited two dozen heartbeats before peeking over the upturned table he had thrown himself behind, not seeing any White Masks below or near them, trusting the shot to have been misplaced and their position secure, for the moment. 

 

A hushed and dead tone, “Glaz,” Kapkan hissed under his breath, “we’ve got to relocate, they know we’re here.” Panic rose in his throat, questioning himself on how he didn’t notice and enemy sniper in the first place, cursing his distractions. 

 

He had no response. Fed up, Kapkan crawled along his belly, eyes locked on the holes leading outside. “Glaz, you fucker, come on,” a hand grasped his shoulder and shook him. 

 

Another shake, “ _ Glaz _ ?”

 

Kapkan acted before he thought. Leaving any equipment discarded, he tugged on Glaz’s dead weight and dragged them both to the furthest corner of the abandoned shack, away from any windows or cracks, and pulled his friend to his lap, checking for any head injuries caused by falling debris, cursing Glaz out the whole while.

 

Hands sifted through clothes, hair, brushed cheeks and moved headgear out of the way. They trailed down his cheeks, and the right came back wet. 

 

“G-Glaz… Don’t fucking play with me, come on, up.” He mumbled, tearing off a strip of his sleeve and navigating the darkness to try and mop up the cut on his face. He wrapped the fabric around his fingers and pressed it to the side of his face, hand unexpectedly reaching too far into the wound to be a mere scrape, and Kapkan chilled in shock.

 

After a moment of insane fright, he frantically shuffled about and ripped open the buttons along Glaz’ ghillie, exposing his chest and running reddened palms across every inch to check for wounds, blood pooling heavy and sticky near his throat. 

 

“Timur, no no, wake up so I can fix you,  _ please _ , don’t do this,” his voice was nearly nonexistent, cracked and dry in the air as he set to work assessing the injury, scavenging for any sort of light source possible that would be dim enough to not reveal his position. 

 

In his breast pocket, he fished out a small lighter and wiggled tighter in the corner, igniting the flame with a scratch of flint and--

 

A sob broke out, unexpected and distressed. Quiet enough to be unnoticed and loud enough to progress the grief weaving through his veins. 

 

Holding Glaz’ face in front of him, Kapkan stared at the grotesque painting before him, deep rubies spattering his once handsome face.

 

Across his cheek lay a gash marring from his lower eyelid to his jawline, flecks of shattered bone littering the laceration and eye nearly taken out of his skull. Below his ear, right in the soft dip of flesh betwixt, an exit wound from a point thirty calibre bullet, creating a hole in pale flesh before slicing yet a matching set from his clavicle and out his shoulder blade. 

 

Terror froze Kapkan’s limbs, watching blood pour from the entries and exits of a single shot which took his most precious possession. Glaz must have been laying down on his belly, the trail grazing his face, into his throat and shoulder and exiting his back in a carmine line. Kapkan dabbed at the dark bubbles as they gushed from Glaz’ ghostly white face, shaking fingers covering his usually bright and baby blue eyes, fully aware he could not bear to look at them while simultaneously distraught that he would never see them open up again. 

 

Salt tickled his cheeks and his lip trembled under the force of his tears as sorrow finally broke free, gripping Glaz in an impossibly tight hug and rocking him back and forth as if soothing an infant, just waiting for him to wake up again. 

 

“You- you wouldn’t just leave me alone here, Timur. Come on, you gotta get out of here with me, we have to go back to Tachanka and Fuze and Finka  _ together _ , I can’t go all alone. I  _ need _ you,  _ please _ . Come back.” Pleas falling on an empty ear, imploring and beseeching any god who dare listen for some reprise from the agony ripping through his chest. Kapkan curled up and cried until he had no more tears left to shed.

 

His comms crackled, spat and mewled in his ear yet he couldn’t care less, instead ignoring the shaken voice of Ash on the other end as she tried to establish contact for an extraction, her worry evident across miles of terrain and yet his care could still not be found, throat clenched tightly around the ball of sorrow lodged there. No amount of crying or screaming or coughing could force it down, seemingly glued there for him to suffer eternally. 

 

Glaz’ voice echoed in his ears and phantom pains of late-night touches and talks ghosted his skin, creating a whirlpool of never-ending nostalgia fueled by  _ pain _ . Bright canvases and the horsehair brush which glided across it’s finely toothed surface to birth a breathtaking mixture of colour and hue making up his paintings, the one thing he found true solace in when the world turned harsh. 

 

Kapkan wondered to himself how he got here. What miscalculation he must have took to end at this moment in time, mourning his love in his arms who dripped rose petals to the dirtied floorboards beneath. What signal he must have missed in order for these exact events to take place, ruining his life before it had even started, before he had even told Glaz how he  _ felt.  _

 

By now, he could not care about the enemies lingering around them. He tipped his head back and screamed, a howl of misery and filled to the brim with a type of pain unattainable to most. With unrequited kisses and forever unsaid vows and proclamations of adoration. 

 

He cares not about his future, nor his doom, nor his life or death or anything in between, because all of it lay dead in his arms right at this moment, his joy, his happiness, his sadness and his anger. Ash demands his response in his head and surely she must hear his wailing, the explosions of his traps as they are set off by investigating terrorists, the rumble of the building they are stashed in as it’s doorways are demolished. 

 

The blades of a heli and the gatling gun attached fire from the air above and Kapkan registers it as his evac, but can’t be bothered to care, simply holds Glaz to his chest and stares at his peaceful looking demeanor, pallid as if only in sleep. He could be a marble statue, a renaissance painting, a photograph of relaxation had the truth not been torn right through his complexion in a bloody mess. 

 

His cries die down and so do the startled calls from the White Masks, heli landing outside his nest and heavy footsteps climbing the stairs to his location. Friend or foe, he cared not of the intrusion, gripped his PMM tightly and Glaz even tighter, ready to defend his vigil if only for another breath.

 

Eyes cloudy with water, Kapkan looked up slowly to the Charlie squad as they breached his hideout, a small group of four operators composed of Castle, Alibi, Rook and Montagne. Stoicism took hold of the shield bearer, pity upon the American. Rook and Alibi lowered their weapons and both displayed unadulterated sorrow, something Kapkan picked out in their features and clung to as a lifeline that he was not the only one to feel this way. That thought was comforting, in a small sense. 

 

“Kapkan…” Castle had tried, hushed only by the sharp glare thrown his way by the Russian, who had no time to spare on lectures and lies and simply switched on to autopilot, falling back into the muscle memory of training like an obedient and emotionless dog. He slung the body over his back, gentle and tender, and spared no eye contact with his teammates as he shoved past and made to exit the building, careless of the supplies left behind. Surely one of them would pick it up.

 

An unfamiliar recruit piloted the chopper. It was a welcome change, it meant he had no need to strike up conversation with this stranger. Kapkan trudged through rubble and to the vehicle, pulling himself aboard and directly to the back of the cabin where he refused to part with the body in his arms. Charlie followed close behind, and they took off without a word.

 

Alibi was uttering into her radio, no doubt in Kapkan’s mind briefing HQ about what had happened. He was glad it was her. She was famous for being a blank slate, masks hiding her true feelings in a way which made it easy to just talk and drone and not feel judged or compromised in his position as a high ranking soldier. Her morals acted as a chameleon. 

 

Slimy paint and dried salt plastered his face, hood shucked back and mask pulled down in an impressive display of uncaring. Blood drenched his body more than sweat did and Kapkan sat there alone, and succumbed to his sorrow. 

 

If only he had just calculated those few millimeters a little bit better... Maybe the hand he’d been holding wouldn’t be so cold. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, you probably are aware of the tragedy which befell my family June 8th. My beloved dog Honey passed away due to faulty surgery and now my family is left grieving, in debt, and without our best friend. I still need to pay off over $5,500 dollars worth of vet bills. Please consider donating to my Ko-Fi if you like my work. This story was one of my vent pieces to help me get through the pain I feel constantly since losing her.   
> Here is my [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/O4O86LC7) where you can donate if you so please. Thank you all for your continued support.


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